“They’re coming,” he whispers.
At midnight I hear the howling.
I can’t tell from where or how far.
It sounds like your voice.
It wakes me from a dream.
Drifting between cycles with four-legged
Silhouettes blurred in my vision.
I close my eyes and he tells me to run.
He says if we split up maybe we can split the pack
Maybe then we’ll have a chance.
I run, but fate's tampering hand holds me tight by the collar
And our paths converge again, back where we started.
We wait in the dark on a moonless night,
Softly he sings his requiem, tells me
How he lived with one foot in the grave
And that dying wouldn’t change a thing.
That if we bled ourselves dry, burned our clothes and fled the city
They’d still find us.
We wait in the dark and i listen to the sound
Of his breathing--a solemn countdown.
I tie a thread from his wrist to mine to stay tethered while he’s underground.
He tightens the knots i made, tells me
Nothing stays buried forever.
Not really.
At midnight we hear the howling.
It grows louder, closer.
“They’re coming,” he whispers.
We howl along with them.